After book shopping, Kinsor and I set out to find somewhere to eat. I had a fair idea where to go --- a restaurant I'd been to with bunny_hugger and was confident I could find again --- although in practice we failed utterly at locating it. Going back over the path later, with bunny_hugger's help and Google Street View, I can't see how we could possibly have missed it, but we did. We got a couple good glances of the New One World Trade Center, though, and took pictures, which come out either awfully because of the damp air or else has an excellent atmosphere because of the damp air. (There also may have been a fire throwing soot into the air; there certainly were fire engines.)
So, we gave up on that search and went to a Mexican restaurant instead, a pretty good one with the classic Manhattan-style floor plan of enormously many tiny rooms connected with narrow door frames and rises or falls of a couple steps. Kinsor wondered if you were even allowed to have a broken leg in Manhattan. I think it's possible but not recommended. Also the (abundant) TVs were playing a Reds game and a soccer match, I want to say between Spain and Italy, in which every time the set was out of view of both of our eyes, both teams scored.
We had thoughts of going to Jane's Carousel, just over in Brooklyn, and realized afterward that they close at 7 pm in the summer so we were way late. But we did have time yet to take the subway to the Brooklyn Bridge, and walk across it. The idea of getting sunset photographs over Manhattan was a good one, but we were too late for that; instead, we could go for nighttime photographs. And this would turn out pretty well, really. I can't resist taking photographs in lighting conditions so awful that they can't possibly come out, which gives me that incredible rush when they do work out. A dark sky, a shutter open for as much as a second on the bridge which is, whatever else one may say about it, subject to fairly continuous mild motion, and yet, something recognizable in the play of light and dark ... well, we took much longer than we might have needed just to walk into Manhattan, but, we had a great time in the closing hours of the evening.
But, sadly, I did have to get back up to the Port Authority to take a bus home --- work in the morning, temporary as that problem's going to be --- and he had to get back to the hotel to rest and try getting his body clock into the correct time zone. We got down to the platform just in time to catch the subway train I needed, which wasn't the one he needed, and, well, that's where we separated.
Trivia: A 14th-century Paris merchant recommended that, when preparing ten- or twelve-year-old stockfish, ``it behoves to beat it with a wooden hammer for a full hour and then set it to soak in warm water for a full two hours more, then cook it and scour it very well ... then eat it with mustard or soaked in butter.'' Source: Food In History, Reay Tannahill. (I confess that after soaking it and cooking and scouring it I'd probably have saved the bother and just tossed it right in the garbage disposal, but then I have the luxury of not eating foods more than twice as old as my elder niece.)
Currently Reading: Over Here! New York City During World War II, Lorraine B Diehl.